


fallen

by cirque



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22090573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cirque/pseuds/cirque
Summary: Mick was two, maybe three, days from giving up.
Relationships: Post-apocalypse Female Survivor/Post-apocalypse Female Survivor
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	fallen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GlassesOfJustice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassesOfJustice/gifts).



> This story was supposed to be longer, but I had some bad family news shortly after starting it. I may continue this work at a later date so, uh, watch this space?

Mick was two, maybe three, days from giving up. The car ran out of juice two towns back so she’d stuck to the well worn road, following it without hope or expectation, her looted hiking boots getting a fair work out. She counted as she went, the amount of bodies strewn by the wayside. Her water was running out and she was, if she was honest, losing hope.

The woman was like a breath of fresh air after almost-drowning. She ran up beside Mick as though they were out for a morning jog, and Mick was initially so shocked that she tripped over her own feet.

“Whoa,” said the woman, keeping pace with her. She was tall, taller than Mick at any rate, and had blonde hair pulled back into a messy bun. She was wearing camouflage and looked for all the world like a lost soldier.

Mick rolled her eyes; this was no war, this was a graveyard. She picked herself up off the ground. “What the hell are you doing?” She didn’t care that this woman was the first alive person she’d seen in - what? - two weeks? Three? She set her jaw. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

The woman leaned in, conspiratorially. “Challenge accepted.”

“What - no -”

“ _ Relax. _ ”

“Relax?!” Mick gestured to the burned out cars along the road, the downed telephone poles, the detritus of an apocalypse. “What the hell are you doing?”

The woman turned on her heel, jogging backwards to keep up with Mick. She frowned - this was evidently not how she thought their conversation would go. “I couldn’t figure out a way to get your attention. I’m Emily, by the way.”

“Are you with the army?” Mick pointed at her fatigues. “Is the army finally doing something?”

“What? No, these are stolen. What’s your name?”

“Michaela,” she replied, begrudgingly.

They’d stuck together after that. It made sense, after all. Safety in numbers. Emily might have been easy on the eyes but she was a nightmare to cohabit with. She rose with the dawn, stretching and clattering about. She cooked with a song, showered with an orchestra, walked with a damn jingle whistling from her lips. She tripped over everything, cried at the drop of a hat, and insisted on burying every corpse they came across. Mick was secretly thankful for that last one; she had gotten too used to staring at the bodies, doing nothing to help. Emily was, for better or for worse, enriching her life.

They pulled up at the cabin a week into their arrangement. Emily kicked open the door and Mick raised her crow-bar, but there was no one about and they gave little breathy laughs of relief. Truthfully, Mick didn’t know what she would do if she actually had to use her crow-bar; it was more of an image thing so far. It was the apocalypse, she figured, you gotta be armed.

Emily strode into the cabin, her arms thrown wide, glorious in the sunlight. “This place is perfect, ain’t it?”

“It certainly seems that way.” Mick was a long way from using the word ‘perfect’ yet, but she smiled when she pulled open the kitchen cupboards to find an untouched hoard of tinned goods. “Oh the sweet, sweet sight of Spam.”

“Ooh yum,” Emily laughed, and she looked so damn beautiful all of a sudden, resplendent in the warm sunlight pouring in, her face awash with it, that Mick swallowed awkwardly.

“Let’s set up camp,” she said, and Emily turned to face her.

“They have a lake.” She pointed excitedly through the open kitchen window, where they could see a grassy expanse of brownish water beyond a ruined deck. “Or is it a pond?”

“It’s a leptospirosis trap is what it is.”

“Oh come on. Let’s go swimming.”

Mick said ‘no’, and they compromised by going swimming, leaving their clothes on the worm-eaten decking. Emily dove into the lake with a practiced ease, her blonde hair spilling into the grimy-looking water. She disappeared for a hot second, but then came up for air, laughing all the while. Mick, meanwhile, dipped her foot in the water. It was cold, and her toes curled up just at the thought of getting in there.

“C’mon,” Emily said, splashing her some. “I’ll cook tonight. Promise.”

“Oh yeah? What’ll it be? Corned beef?”

“If you’re lucky I might break out the tinned potatoes.”

Mick took a deep breath and let herself drop into the water. It was like a sheet of ice breaking over her body, nipping at her chest, shooting up her nose. She was above the water long enough to hear Emily’s exuberant  _ whoop _ before it closed over her head and everything was muffled, the silty brown water stinging at her open eyes.

After - after a cold meal of corned beef and hard potatoes - after, Mick and Emily lay on the deck, staring up into the hot, hot sun. It was unbelievable, really, how much the world could endure, how easy it was for it to continue turning. 

As she marveled, Mick felt her eyes grow heavy. Emily rolled over onto her stomach and placed a quick kiss on Mick’s parted lips. They stared at each other as the kiss grew around them. Mick cleared her throat, as though that would help. Her mind was whirling like a jet plane engine.

“What?” said Emily, off-hand.

“Nothing,” Mick said, and smiled.


End file.
